


What Once Was Lost

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: City of Love: Paris (Visual Novel)
Genre: Because Alia is unhinged, F/M, No Character Death, What if the gun had gone off?, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 13:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: She realized Alia would never believe her, would never consider such a possibility as the truth to Marcel’s death.  For the first time in two years, she finds herself yet again facing the barrel of a gun.  AU to the finale of Season 2.  Vincent Karm x MC, hints at previous Raphael x MC, references Vincent’s side story. MC is named. No character death.





	What Once Was Lost

“Alia,” Sophia began, holding her hands up defensively.  

She saw something change in the older woman’s eyes, as if Alia was unable to believe Marcel’s cause of death.  Honestly, she found it quite silly too (did no one know the Heimlich?!), but it was  _true_. Alia wanted the truth, and there it was.  

But she wasn’t listening.  Or if she was, she didn’t care. Not anymore.

“Alia, look, I have photos of the documents. Just put down the gun and you can read them.”

“Why, so I read more elaborate lies?!” Alia held the pistol so casually, flippantly, gesturing as she spoke.  “The Knights took him from me, they betrayed him, in the end.”  She was nodding fervently now, emphasizing her point.  Her brown eyes were glassy, tears forming.  

 _You’re not_ wrong _, technically._ Sophia thought.   _No one tried to save him…or didn’t know how._

“Alia, I felt the same way when I lost my wife,” Henri said softly, attempting to play the political role he knew so well.  

_Henri, do shut up.  If she isn’t listening to me, she isn’t going to listen to someone she believes is responsible._

Alia glared at the man, who closed his mouth, realizing she wasn’t going to listen to reason.  

“Alia, give me the gun. We can end this now before anyone gets hurts,” Sophia slowly, trying to catch the older woman’s eyes, establish a connection.  “Please.”

Her blue eyes caught the end of the gun barrel, aimed at her, rather than its usual place, on Henri.  “Before anyone gets hurt?!  I’ve been hurting for years and no one considered me!”

Sophia heard the shot before she felt the searing pain in her leg. She cried out and fell awkwardly, a second shot ringing out just before she felt her shoulder burn.  She heard Hugo’s voice and the stomping steps of his backup squad, shouting in French…her name, Alia’s shocked face, shame in her eyes…

She slumped over, Hugo’s concerned face the last thing she saw before her eyes shut and she gave in to the pain.

* * *

Vincent rounded the corner, eyes roaming the door numbers until he came upon the one he wanted.  The recovery wing was quiet, save the hum of computers and the soft chatter of nurses.  He peered into the room to find it empty; he supposed she had yet to come out of surgery, but at least they were smart enough to plan ahead and have a room ready.

He took a seat in one of the chairs nearby, shifting uncomfortably in the stiff chair.  

It wasn’t long until he was joined by others, one of the friends who accompanied her to Versailles ( _Leo_ , he recalled,  _the attaché and street artist_ ), and Raphael, of all people.  The bloody man hadn’t even been around when the confrontation happened, and he and the journalist hadn’t parted under entirely nice terms.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Raphael hissed, Vincent rising from his seat calmly to be eye level with him.

“I could ask you the same, you’re not engaged to her anymore.”  He countered, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, and you’re her knight in shining armor, are you?”

“Guys!” Leo interjected.  “Enough. People are sleeping.  She wouldn’t want you fighting.”

The two men glared at each other, Raphael breaking eye contact first, as he always did, taking the chance to roll his eyes and cross his arms.  Vincent cast a final glare at Raphael, pulling out his phone to check his email, walking away from him.  Raphael took a seat and checked his phone as well.  

 _Probably sending a text to that harpy of a woman he used to work with, updating her,_  Vincent thought.

Leo took a chair to Raphael’s right, leaving a chair between them.  He seemed the fidgety sort to Vincent, an artist ever in motion, in thought.  Leo Debois has done well for himself in Sophia’s absence, obtaining a job outside of his field and ending up, of all places, in politics.  He was secretly glad the less grim of the pair had come to wait; Hugo wasn’t a man he wanted to deal with at the moment and was probably busy dealing with Alia.

Vincent sent a text to Eugene and then decided a stroll through the halls was far better than sitting in the same area as Raphael Laurent.   _Anything_  was better than that right now.

He should have gone with her.  Should have predicted Alia would have gone after De Valois, should have  _warned_ her Alia wouldn’t listen, no matter what she was told.  The clues to Alia’s spiral were there for those who could find them, among the maps and notes.  Handwriting getting quick and cramped, signs of lack of sleep, a crumbled picture of Marcel, younger, happier.  

He took a deep breath when he was away from the other two, stopping in his tracks.  

 _She would have done it anyway._    _You can predict and counter all you want, but people will do what they want._ He thought.  This part of him hadn’t turned up in a very long time.  

He  _hated_  not having control.  

Vincent’s thoughts quieted with two more laps, his eyes taking note of everything they could, ears pricked, listening for any mention of her room number.  He decided to stand opposite the two of them, silence falling between them before Leo stood up.

“I’m going to find the commissary and grab something to drink, does anyone want coffee? Tea?”  Leo offered, his tone kind and soft. No wonder Sophia had him as a friend, he was a good listener, could read body language.

Vincent and Raphael asked for coffee and simultaneously reached for their wallets to give him money but Leo waved them off.  

“No, don’t worry about it.” The blonde said, waving over his shoulder.  “Be back shortly.”  

The silence fell between them again, now tense, awkward.  For a fleeting moment, Vincent considered Raphael to be right; it was odd for him to be here.  He had no emotional bond to her, at least, not to the extent Raphael did.  It could be, he mused, one day.  If she wanted it to be.  

Was he capable of caring?  Caring again for someone, letting someone, letting  _her_  close to him?

The uncertainty was crushing him internally.  His thoughts were never so lacking in confidence, so muddled.  

“You called her Sophia at Alia’s apartment.” Raphael murmured.  “You never call  _anyone_  by their first name, Karm.”

“It’s none of your business,  _Laurent_.”

“You just proved my point.”

“Do you like to hear yourself talk?”

“No, but you do.”

“You’re right, I do, but usually I have better opponents to verbally spar.”

Raphael fell quiet, his face bearing only hints of annoyance, something else crossing his lips.  “You kissed her, didn’t you?” He teased.

“ _She_  kissed  _me_ , I’ll have you know.  Laurent, you’re being insufferable.”

“Only as insufferable as you’re letting me be.”

Vincent frowned, casting his eyes to the side, away from the other man.  Funny.  Only a mere twelve hours earlier, Raphael was jumping defensively down his throat for wanting to come  _help_  their cause and save Paris.  His jealousy popped up at the oddest moments, perhaps it was only a matter of time.  Or perhaps he simply realized their location wasn’t the right place for a fight and it was pointless to sulk.  Vincent neither knew nor cared, truthfully.  He was here for  _her_.  No one else.

He knew what Raphael was doing and he was playing right into it.  He’d never give him the credit for easing his thoughts, distracting him.  They were enemies, business rivals, but they’d been friends for years.  

The last time either of them had been in a hospital, it was under similar circumstances. Someone they cared about, undergoing surgery. Except he didn’t come back out.  The injuries were too extensive, they said, and the spinal trauma meant a permanent lifestyle change, that Paul would never walk again, even if he survived.

Vincent hadn’t been to a hospital since.

“She’ll be okay.” Raphael said softly, and the dark haired man wasn’t sure if he was reminding himself or Vincent.  “It’s Sophia.  She always pulls through.”

Vincent hummed, neither openly agreeing nor disagreeing.  He was right, although he’d never admit it aloud.  Sophia was…someone extraordinary.  She’d live just to spite Alia and heal fast enough to partake in the trial.  

“She’s too good for you. You know that, right, Karm?”

“She’s too good for both of us, Laurent,” Vincent smirked, looking back at the man in front of him.  “But when she wakes up, I’m lecturing her on how terrible she is for reminding me I have a heart.”

“You still have one?”  Raphael mocked, eyes wide in shock.

“And if she wants it, all she has to do is ask. Because she already carved her way into it anyway.”  He ignored the red haired man, pretending not to have heard his jab.  

They shared a silent glance, one full of understanding. They had fallen for the same woman but for different reasons, under different circumstances.

Raphael fell silent as Leo came back with coffee, clearly unhappy he didn’t get the final word.  They waited longer, softly conversing in a way Vincent was familiar with, small talk, nothing personal, the kind of conversations he’d have with fellow travelers waiting in an airport lounge.  Leo shared pictures of his work, Raphael asked Vincent about something business related, all of it distracting them from the agonizing wait.  

His heart lurched when he saw the gurney, saw  _her_ , drowsy, pale, tubes hanging out of her arms.  Her hospital gown was pulled away from one shoulder to give easy access to the bandages, her arm in a sling and a large bulk under the blanket indicated her knee was wrapped in a cast.  She looked at them, but he had the feeling she was seeing through them, the haze of painkillers heavy in her eyes.  

The glances from the nurses suggested the three of them were breaking visitor protocol by being there, lingering, waiting.  Visiting hours had long since ended.  Perhaps it was because she was an American national, or that she was a witness for all of the major events in the past two days, but the nurses said it was better she not be left alone, at least not yet.  One person was allowed to stay overnight, as a precaution, given she had no family in the country.

He let the other two go first before offering to be the one to stay with her overnight.  Raphael frowned, clearly not a fan of the idea despite their civil-enough banter.  

“You’re a wanted fugitive,” Raphael hissed when the nurse was out of earshot.  “You might as well just hand yourself right over to the cops.”

“My brother will want to get her statement as soon as she’s coherent; you staying is probably not a good idea.”

“You’re both forgetting how occupied the police are with Alia and the aftermath of the flood.”  Vincent said.

Raphael rolled his eyes and sighed, and Vincent was thankful when the man decided to finally drop the niceties and simply leave.  Leo said he would keep him updated, offering to take the turn after Vincent.  

“So you can get out of here before Hugo gets here,” Leo gave him a smile.  “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Despite everything he had put her friends through, it was odd to be…trusted.  Raphael he couldn’t care less about, his opinion didn’t matter at all; he was a nuisance more than anything.  Leo was someone he had never met before, someone he knew to have helped Sophia now and again.  His political experience made him wary but Vincent could see the younger man had a talent for seeing all of a person’s facets.  

Vincent entered the darkened room and removed his jacket, draping it over the arm of the couch opposite the bed.  He took the uncomfortable chair next to the bed, Sophia’s eyes flickering open to acknowledge a presence before closing again.  

The woman stood up for her friends, protected those she loved with her intellect and talent and now, her body.  It would be months before she walked normally; her shoulder injury would prevent crutches, he knew.  Marion had taken her friend from her and Alia had almost taken her life twice in twenty-four hours.  Had the older woman aimed higher, she might have nicked an artery.  Had she aimed a few inches to the right, Sophia would have died on the spot.

But she lived.

She fought. Just like she had fought him.  She fought for Paris, for her loved ones.  

He could think of no one stronger.

His large hand reached for her smaller one.  She was cold, the kind that came from being in a hospital, on an operating table.  

Two years ago, this could have been her.  He could have ordered her dead, threatened it multiple times, and yet it never happened.  Two years ago, he didn’t understand the things he felt for her, thought them fleeting, misinterpreted them as something carnal, wanting power over the person who could go toe-to-toe with him.  He wasn’t sure when he grew to  _care_ , exactly, but he did.  

All he could do now was support her, as her friends would.  They certainly weren’t  _friends_ , but neither were they enemies, not entirely.  

And he would tell her, in time.  After the trial, probably.  For the sake of honesty, if nothing else.  He respected her, above all else, and she deserved that knowledge, to know she managed to remind him of what it was like to  _care_  about something, someone other than himself.  

And then it would be hers to do with what she would.  It would be easier than living with the agony of silence, he mused, his eyes closing of their own accord, her hand still in his.

* * *

Sophia blinked awake, her eyes heavy and her body screaming.  She twitched her toes, feeling a tightness around her right leg.  Her left arm was in a sling, her shoulder pulsing with pain.  

The last thing she remembered was Hugo’s face…an ambulance…hearing voices, talking about bullet size and tissue damage… _oh_.

Alia.  

The gun.  

The woman nearly succeeded in killing her twice.  What a devil of a woman, manipulating her the whole time, trying to drown her once, and then shooting her.  Vincent had been dangerous but this woman was something else. Emotionally compromised, desperate in her pain.  If she couldn’t have her love, no one would feel love ever again.  Whereas her first trip to Paris involved some kind of greater motive, as capitalist and greedy as it had been.  It was almost as if the prices rising and ridding the city of its inhabitants was an afterthought, an excuse for his plan to happen.

 _Should rename it “the city of danger”_ , she thought.  

Sophia felt something warm in her right hand and turned her head to find a hand.  She followed the arm until her eyes rested on a figure in a chair next to her.  Green waistcoat, black tie, sharp cheekbones.  Dark hair was tinged with hints of gold from the morning sunlight streaming through the window, the thin curtain masking rather than blocking the light.

Vincent.

Vincent Karm, holding her hand.  Asleep.

His neck was at an angle that certainly couldn’t have been comfortable.  

So she hadn’t been dreaming when she saw him sit next to her bed earlier.  

She peered back at the hand again, feeling how warm and soft they were against hers.  Why was he here?  Shouldn’t he have been taking advantage of the police distraction, fleeing Paris?  He’d be caught again if he stayed here.  It was too public.

Sophia grimaced as she reached for the remote to call for a nurse.  She couldn’t stand the pain any longer.

 _When the hell did I begin to care about what happens to him?_   She thought.

If she had an answer, it didn’t come to her.  A woman in blue scrubs peaked her head in and began taking Sophia’s vitals, asking how she was feeling.  The nurse mentioned the dosages and medications she would be on for the next day or two, and that she would be able to see the surgeon for a follow up in a few hours.  

“He’s been here all night, since before you got out of surgery,” she whispered.  “Two other men were here as well, actually.”

So she  _had_ seen Raphael and Leo in the hallway as well when she was brought up to her room.  She had half-wondered if seeing them was just a trick of her medications.  

“He was quite distraught waiting for you, actually.  They all were but he couldn’t seem to sit still.”

_Of course he couldn’t.  His brain doesn’t stop long enough for him to.  Except now, I suppose._

The nurse gave her a dose of pain medication and warned it might make her drowsy again, that it wasn’t worth it to fight it and to simply sleep as much as she could for now.  Sophia murmured a thank you, waiting for her to leave before looking back at Vincent.

He looked so…at peace when he slept.  So…very unlike the man she knew, not dangerous, not cunning, not predicting.  

She could never thank him enough for helping her with Marion.  For helping her find the truth to Kat’s death.  For helping her figure out Alia’s plan and save the city.  He had driven his boat with ease through the flooded streets and she had sworn she caught something like a smile, something close to joy, as the wind ran through his hair, as the afternoon sun gleamed off of his sunglasses.

A man taking pleasure in a simple thing.  A man she only ever saw a glimpse of twice prior; in the opera house, discussing her soul, and the night they kissed.

 She kissed a lot of people during her return but none of them held the same…allure as the one she shared with Vincent.  She hadn’t truly been prepared for the amount of passion, for the final breaking of the sexual tension that hung between them since before she left his jail cell two years ago.  It felt…perfect to be the one to leave  _him_ speechless for once, his eyes wide.

Her thumb began to draw light circles on his hand, an unconscious gesture.  She didn’t want to wake him but she had a feeling if she fell asleep again, he’d be gone when she woke.  His green eyes opened slowly, foggy with sleep for only a moment before they rested on hers and realized she was awake.  Vincent slowly sat up, wincing as he adjusted his posture, before seeming to remember their hands.  He eased his fingers open to release her hand but she squeezed it, gently pulling it back the small distance he had drawn away.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, not trusting her tongue.  

“I’m glad you survived,” she heard him say, barely above a whisper.  She looked at him, taken slightly aback by the admission.  “Twice.”

“I’m stubborn.”  She would have shrugged if not for the sling.

“Oh, I know.”  He smirked, his eyes dropping to their hands.  “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving Paris.”

She wondered if there was more to that sentence.  If there was, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to get it.  

They sat in silence, the sun rising, other patients waking up as morning rounds began.  Out of the corner of her eye, she marveled at Vincent’s hair in the sunlight again, his dark brown hair revealing a hint of auburn at just the right angle.  Her eyes felt heavy and she felt sleep grasping for her, her body wanting nothing more than to recover in the only way it knew how.  

As she drifted back to sleep, she felt soft breath against her ear as he whispered, “And for helping me find my heart again.”

When she woke up again, he was gone.


End file.
